


Shirt

by lenfaz



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenfaz/pseuds/lenfaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This makes sense if you read Ashe and Bone by poor_dumb_killian first! http://archiveofourown.org/works/5985399</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shirt

“You need a new shirt, Mr Manderly.”

Billy turned around, a sincere smile gracing his lips as his eyes focused on the brunette smiling at him, an eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip. He bowed his head in salutation, and lifted his eyes again to meet hers.

“Lady Ashe,” he greeted with a slight hint of mirth in his voice.

“I think that title has long expired,” she explained, reaching to lift a mug and a jar from a nearby table and putting them in a tray. “You can call me Abigail, remember?”

He found himself standing next to her, not sure how he’d ended up so close to her. “And you can call me Billy,” he replied, his hand reaching for hers and stopping at the very last minute. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously.

She smiled in return, her gaze examining the edges of his face, from his mesmerizing eyes to his strong jawline. She bit her lower lip, daring to repeat her statement. “Like I said, it seems you are in desperate need of a new shirt.” Her fingers grazed the worn fabric that was almost torn in several places. The shirt was clean, but she could still smell the sea and sweat in it, and she wondered if that was his proximity.

His hand reached for the same spot where her fingers laid and softly caressed them. “You might be right, Abigal. But I’m afraid I can’t afford one…” he trailed off, a shy smile on his face as his eyes averted hers.

She was about to inquiry about the meaning of his words when a loud voice called for him. They both startled, quickly pulling away from each other and Billy turned around to join Flint. “Have a nice evening, milady,” he whispered, his fingers stealthily stealing one last caress from hers.

/*/

Abigail stood by the little shop, her hands touching the soft green silk. It felt like a caress on her skin, the promise of balls and courting enveloped in the rich fabric.

“It’s a textile fit for a queen,” the seller offered, trying to sweet talking her into buying it. “You’d look lovely in this color, Miss.”

She smiled, imagining a lovely dress with a fitted corset that would enhance her bosom. She imagined Billy looking at her in astonishment, his eyes following her as she moved around the tavern in a new dress. But she quickly discarded those thoughts, her hand reaching to palpate the coins she was carrying. She wasn’t hungry nor in dire need of any basic necessities, but she wasn’t swimming on wealth either. Captain Flint had been very generous upon hearing of her arrival to Nassau, offering her what used to be Mrs. Barlow’s home. But – as he’d come to learn as he made his way to the humble abode – the house had been occupied while he’d been missing and given for dead. Flint hadn’t even broken a sweat as he calmly demanded the intruders pay a monthly stipend to Abigail per the usufruct of the lodging and they’d have to vacate the premises within the next month.

And thus, in addition to her wagers from the tavern, Abigail now had a monthly stipend and soon a home to call her own.

Pressing her fingers against the coins on her small purse, she turned around to face the smiling seller. “Indeed is a rich fabric, sir. But I’m looking for something else. I need four measures of your best and strongest linen. White or grey, preferably.”

/*/

It had taken weeks, her clumsy fingers enduring constant pricks as she battled the needle and thread into the fabric. Needlepoint had never been her strongest suit; thus it should be logical that embarking in such a task would have proven to be a challenge for her.

But she never yielded. Each moment she had, she’d pick the linen and the thread and continue her work until she was finally done. She’d smiled to herself, carefully locating a few sets of her old ribbons to use as a makeshift bow for the bundle she’d prepared so lovingly.

Her heart beat forcefully against her chest as she made her way to the shack she knew he slept in when he was not at sea. It was a lovely afternoon, the sun almost setting behind the horizon, the soft breeze starting to chill the air, the smell of the sea reaching her nostrils as she walked by, ignoring the sideway glances and leering comments, her package held tightly against her chest.

This was the boldest she’d ever felt in her entire life. Leaving Savannah and reaching Nassau after Charlestown had been burned to the ground to seek the company of those that had burnt it in the first place and siding with them in a fierce fight against her nation had been bold, an act of rebellion that spoke more to others than to herself. It was a living testament of the words she’d written in her diary, her final support to the people that had shown her bravery and kindness where she only expected sadism and pain.

But this – this was different. This wasn’t a political statement – taking a side in the fight between pirates and empires. This was her very own act of rebellion, personal at a much deeper level than reaching Nassau had been. This was her, Abigail Ashe, choosing to be who she wanted to be and doing what she’d so desperately had been wanting to do. The Abigail Ashe that was raised by tutors in Paris and London -the one that should now call herself Lady Ashe – would have never done this, would never even dare to walk alone towards a man’s room.

But this Abigail – the one that had seen the pain and sorrow beneath hard exteriors, the one that had feared for her life only to see it saved by the most unlikely ones – reached her destination and took a deep breath before calling for his name.

/*/

Billy’s eyes lit briefly with delight before he schooled his features in slight apprehension. “Miss Ashe – Abigail,” he corrected himself when she cocked an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here? This is not-”

“Proper, Ms Manderly?” she asked, her tone somehow lighter and bolder than how she actually felt. “I have a gift for you,” she announced and took advantage of his perplexity to move forward and enter his accommodations. It was only after she was inside that she’d realized how reckless she’d been. He could have been occupied, perhaps being _entertained_ by somebody. But his room was empty, and she took a few moments to scan the premises. A few books placed on old shelves, a simple cot at the end of the room, a few lanterns here and there. Small trinkets were scattered around the room; relics of former loots he’d kept for some reason.

He cleared his throat, “I apologize for the state of my abode, I wasn’t expecting such company.” He was shuffling nervously from one feet to another, contradicting the strong and confident sailor she’d seen barking orders around the ship, followed with respect by the crew.

She smiled, “ _Such_ company? You flatter me, Mr Manderly,” she teased.

“It’s Billy,” he said, his eyes boring into hers and for a moment she got lost in the deep sea of his eyes and forgot everything else in this world but the handsome face that was looking at her with reverence.

She broke out of her daze, remembering the reason for her visit, the package she was now clutching in her hands. “As I said, I have a gift for you.” Her hands shook a little as she thrusted the package towards him. His eyes squinted in confusion but he reached to grab it, his fingers softly brushing hers as he did so. He carefully untied the ribbons holding it together and she took a moment to appreciate his nimble fingers moving with such grace. She’d seen him bestowing items and hoisting sails, an exemplar use of force and talent; but there was something different in him as he removed the ribbons with almost reverent care.

Billy seemed confused for a moment before he smiled at the two shirts carefully folded in the package. They were new, the fabric the best linen that could be found on the island. He carefully placed one – the grey one – upon his table as his fingers traced the lines of the white one.

“Shirts…” he said, his eyes lifting to meet Abigail’s smiling features. “You bought me shirts.”

“I – I _made_ you shirts,” she corrected.

“You made these?” he asked stupefied, his eyes travelling to the small stitches. Upon closer inspection, he could see the irregular patterns in some of them, the places where it seemed the seamstress had struggled with the seam. His hands traced the garment again and he looked back at her.

“I did,” she answered, biting her lower lip in a nervous tic. “I know the confection might not be the best you can find in Nassau but -”

His fingers touched her lips to stop her apology and he shook his head before he took a step back and shook his head. “These are -” He struggled to find the words to express how he was feeling. “Thank you, Abigail.”

She nodded. “You should try them on, see if they fit you properly.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and she blushed, averting her eyes for a second before she made way to turn around and give him some privacy, but his hand caught her wrist before she had fully turned.

“I might need some help. I’m still limited in my movements due to my wound,” he said sheepishly.

It was a lie and they both knew it. She’d seen him hoisting sales and carrying barrels on the beach not two days ago; but she grasped his excuse as the straw she’d been waiting. “I could be of assistance if needed,” she replied coyly.

He grinned at her and she reached to help him pull the shirt off of him, albeit rather clumsily due to their height difference. Their hands reached for the white shirt at the same time and he squeezed her fingers before letting her put the shirt over his head. He slowly put each arm on one sleeve and inhaled deeply as she pulled down the shirt, her hands caressing his chest and stomach over the fabric. It was a little short and the fabric was tight against his arms as he rolled up the sleeves, but he’d never felt more at ease in his life. Abigail traced her fingers up down his arm, softly caressing his skin until she reached the rolled up linen.

“It seems I’ve underestimated your recovery,” she pointed out, somewhat embarrassed at the shirts she’d produced.

“It’s perfect.” He corrected, fighting against the urge to reach and grab her waist to pull her closer to him.

Her hand moved from his arm to his chest as she softly traced patterns on the fabric, and she dared to ask the question that had been invading her thoughts. “What did you mean before? When you said couldn’t afford a new shirt? I thought that the gold of the Urca de Lima- ”

“It wasn’t our crew the one that retrieved it,” he reminded her.

She tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “But they reached an agreement: Captains Flint, Vane and Rackham. And I know selected members of the crew got shares.”

Billy crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow at her, the muscles straining the new shirt in a way that almost made her lose her train of thoughts.

“Sailors talk when they’ve had more than their share of rum,” she provided as an explanation and he chuckled. “Is it true? Were you not part of the crew that got a share in exchange of your pledge to secure and defend Nassau? After all, it was you who had alerted them of the peril in the first place,” she pointed out.

He sighed uncomfortably, “I gave it up.”

“What?” she asked surprised before confusion settled in. “ _Why_?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes averting hers as he took a step away. “I asked Flint to use it for something else.”

“For what?” She pressed, clearly determined to reach the bottom of the matter, and taking a step closer to him as she did so.

“The land surrounding Mrs. Barlow’s home,” Billy explained. “There are several acres that can be turn into profitable crops, ensuring a nice yearly rent. I asked Flint to use my share of the gold to secure that land.” He tried to fight against his own will, but he lost the battle as his body moved closer to hers, so close that he could reached for a lock of her hair and play with it. But, at least, he still kept a shred of common sense in him and refrained from doing that.

“You bought the land surrounding my future home?” she asked, confusion and ache marring her lovely features and Billy cursed internally at being the cause of the furrow in her brow. He finally lost the battle against his own restraint and his hand reached to grab her waist, sighing deeply as he lowered his head to rest his forehead and against hers.  

“Not for me, Abigal,” he whispered, feeling her breath fanning over his face, fighting with the last bit of self-control he had. “For you. I bought it for _you_ ,” he professed.

Abigail gasped, the meaning of his words – his _actions_ – sinking into her and she slowly closed the distance between them, pressing her lips softly to his. She felt him freeze for a brief second before he inhaled deeply as his lips started moving.

Suddenly, everything became a blur as she was enveloped in his heat, tightly captured in his embrace as his strong arms pulled her closer to him and he seemed to be drinking from her lips like a parched man that had been offered a skein of water. Her own arms reached to play with the nape of his neck and she tilted her head to press herself against him. 

Billy regained his sense, breaking the kiss – after stealing a final, soft press of his lips on hers – and pulling away, breathing heavily as he stated sadly. “We mustn’t …” He opened his eyes, his hand caressing her cheek, his eyes boring painfully into hers. “We can’t. I’m a pirate, an outcast of society and you are - ”

“ _Yours_ ,” she whispered, closing her eyes as her confession fill in the room, the weight of her words sinking into both of them. He tightened his hold on her, his own body reaching to claim possession of what seemed had been granted to him, but he fought against the fog in his mind as he delivered the words he knew to be true.

“You deserve better,” he stated in a sad matter-of-fact voice.

Her brown eyes bore into his with angered disbelief, “Better? Billy, look at me,” she commanded and he lowered his head for a second before he met her eyes again. “What is left for me in life? Even if I return to London, after what happened – after I’ve sided with the same people that are responsible for my father’s death and the destruction of Charles Town in their eyes? They might be willing to pass the confessions of my dairy as the delusions of an impressionable girl-” she stopped as he blushed, opening his mouth to say something but she placed her hand on his chest to stop him. “They might have pardon me then, but escaping the governance of my guardians and coming here? The worst case scenario I’m looking forward is the crown making an example out of me…” she trailed off, averting her gaze and his hold on her tightened as if he wanted to protect her from that fate, even if the threat was not present at the moment. Abigail found the courage to look at him again, to those eyes that were filled with a mix of fierce passion and tender care. Her voice faltered as she continued. “And the best case scenario, is that I’ll be sold to the first man willing to marry me. Someone that wouldn’t lift a finger to ensure my safety.” Her hand reached for his arm and she leaned into his embrace again. “Certainly not someone that would give up everything they’ve earned to secure my wellbeing.  Someone – someone that would never even care how I feel, someone that would never kiss me like you just had,” she whispered, closing her eyes sadly, shivering at the thought.

His lips found hers this time, softly but steady, bringing calm and joy into her heart. He carefully spun them around until he had her pressed against his makeshift dresser, his lips kissing her reverently. His hands ached to wander through her petite frame, to feel the lines of her body, but he refrained himself as he focused on cradling her face with them, bringing her lips closer to his. He tentatively darted his tongue to lick her bottom lip, and when she met his hesitant move with a bold opening of her mouth to welcome him, he let himself go a little further in his exploration of her. She moaned against his lip and he gasped, feeling himself at the edge of losing control. He slowed down the kiss, pressing soft kisses against the corner of her mouth and following the line of her jaw until he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

“We should stop,” he said raggedly. “You should go. I’ll walk you to the tavern.”

“I don’t want –“ she started to protest but he kissed her one more time to stop her objections.

“I don’t want it either,” he confessed against her lips. “But this is not the time nor the place, my darling. If Flint hears about this, he’d skin me. And with good reason.”

She all but pouted at him and he knew he’d have a hard time resisting any of her demands. He reached to softly caress her cheek. “But this isn’t over, Ms Ashe – Abby. Can I call you that?” he asked smiling.

_Abby_ … It was something new, something unique, just for him. For them. “I’d like that,” she nodded.

He pulled away from her and reached for her hand. “Come, let me walk you back to the tavern.”

She interlaced her fingers with his and he peeked outside to ensure there were no prying eyes before he lead her out of his room.

The walk back to the tavern took several detours, as they would grasp any opportunity to stealthy steal kisses from one another. But soon – much too soon -  they reached the back entrance of the tavern and Billy looked both ways before giving her a final kiss.      

“Thank you for the shirts, no one – no one outside the crew has ever done something like this for me,” he admitted as his hand caressed her cheek.

“You’re welcome.”

 


End file.
